Number 008
by kurochi74
Summary: My life ended, and another begins. Questions are asked and suspicions are raised. But one thing I will always ask, is this really my life?
1. Chapter 1

The overpowering scent of ash clouded my nose, blocking my sense from knowing anything else like a large, rusted gate in front of an aged mansion. What was happening? Gunshots were fired through the air like rain in autumn, soaking everyone in a thick, crimson liquid.

It was them. It had to be them. The rebels, the terrorists, the gang of thugs. No, they were The Saviours. They were rescuing us in our time of need, sparing us from a life of being brainwashed. They delivered us salvation, gave us freedom, granted us protection. They wove us through their web, planning out everything; waiting for the smallest slip up, and being ready to pounce like the hungry predators they were. All whilst wearing a smile, encouraging us to trust them, to put our wavering faith and lives in their hands.

They didn't deserve it.

They lied to us.

_Bang!_

Blinding pain rooted itself deep within the left side of my abdomen, throwing my organs in a disarray. They fooled us. They fooled me. Well, who was I? A secret genius engineer that created half of their weaponry. Oh yes, how moronic was I? I was foolish enough to believe in their favouritism towards my unit. The unit where my 'supervisor' dreamt up the amazing, destructive and ingenious apparatus that -most likely- had killed many people.

When I thought back I knew this would happen eventually. The higher ups were too paranoid and flimsy, they were always suspicious- watching their backs like something was about to jump out at them. I guess it was sound thinking on their part; destroy something before it has the chance to deceive you. As sound as it will get, at least in a power obsessed lunatics mind.

_Bang!_

I scrunched my face up and let loose a croaking chuckle. Huh, the entire unit, fifty-three people, being wiped out because of my creations. It wasn't like any of us had families. Nobody would miss them, it was the sad truth. We were forbidden from having a family, a partner, a child, hell, we were all orphans at one point in our lives. It was the reason we made up this unit, unit number 654, we were what society would call anti- social and recluse. We were like the neighbour from down the road that nobody knew, and our house was the one children stayed away from because the hedges were in need of a good trimming- it made the house look creepy, or so I've been told.

Number 008, that was what I was known as, it was my name. I had been called that for so long I had forgotten my real name. It symbolised that I was the eighth person the join this unit.

_Bang!_

As I slowly felt my life source draining from my body, I recalled the irony of being wiped out by my own creations, is this some twisted for of Karma? If it is the, I guess I deserve it. Let them kill me as they have with countless others, I was only one life. It's not like it would really matter.

Dark circles began to cloud my vision and I let the reality settle in. I was going to die. And there was nothing I could do to help myself.

Recalling back to my childhood I remembered when dying would have been a scary concept, something I wouldn't have dwelled on if I had the chance. But back then I had a family, a life and there was peace. But now I am alone, a workaholic and we are separated in war. Oh the naivety of childhood, how I miss thee.

_Bang!_

No use trying to fight a losing battle, I gave out and my life slowly drained from my body. My eyes staying open- eternally observing the pitiful image that is my world, get encompassed with burning flames.

I would meet them in hell, I thought. There was no way I'm going to heaven. Let's hope it will be soon.

Unseen by her, the fates made a plan, a plan that would affect Number 008, she might just have to postpone that meeting for a while.

**Hello, this is Kuro speaking and this is my first fanfiction.**

**You are welcome to flame, do anything you want. **

**This is really just an experiment so if you think I should or should not continue with this story please include that in a comment.**

**If I continue this story it will be an OC character in the Naruto- verse.**

**I also promise that if continue with it, the chapters will be a lot longer than this.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own**


	2. The Man

I had never known death, how could I? I was alive and had a life- so to speak, albeit not the best life imaginable, but it kept me fed and dry with a roof over my head (disregarding the fact that the heating tended to break a lot). I had, well, not really friends per say, more like acquaintances or colleagues. But they were enough to fill my life, I worked most of my time and slept the rest, there was not much chance of a social life.

Truly, I cannot remember the last time I was outside, when I was alive, at least I assumed I was dead now, if this was death then it was very… boring. When I was alive, there was not much time for a social life or friends, and I couldn't exactly walk up to someone and introduce myself, I didn't have a name.

Number 008.

Not exactly what many want to hear when they ask your name. Not like it bothered me that much.

I was twenty- three when I died, I think. I had lost count of my age a few years ago, I never remembered my birthday because I had no one to celebrate it with. Now, at least.

I was taken to the rebels when I was eleven, if I remember correctly. It was their first act of rebellion, slaughtering a town and taking five or so prisoners, all of them were children, and they needed time to brainwash us to make us think, breathe and live to fight against the government. I was the oldest out of the six they had chosen. I had grown up with them and could barely imagine myself without them, at that time.

My best friend, Mary. She was the sweetest girl anyone could ever meet, she was a bit dim, even I could tell, the little things she did like doing the maths homework meant for the Year 1's. And making a couple of mistakes on that as well, I never held it against her, how could I? She had the personality of an angel, something I severely lacked. I was exceptional at maths and anything academic while Mary was doing the younger children's work I was doing my older, teenage sisters homework.

Mary had golden hair that fell in ringlets the size of sausages, beautiful blue eyes that shone with childlike innocence, she was the epitome of adorability and she knew it. She was taken from me. And I would never forgive them for it.

The last time I saw her she had been crying, the tears were falling down her face like the depressing rain outside, there was nothing I could do, and she was very emotional. Although a usually sweet little girl, her temper tantrums were something feared and she could get upset and cry very quickly, her moods changed like the wrinkles in the sea and weren't half as forgiving.

I was being dragged away and she was screaming out for to "DON'T GO, DON'T LEAVE ME!" she screamed, thrashing against her captors, she couldn't get loose and I knew it. So I just gave up. Laying still in my family's murderer's arms, I gave out- no protest slipped out of my bruised lips, as still and as peaceful as a sleeping new-born I did not utter a word or tense my muscles in defiance. I let it happen, without protest. And I hated myself for it.

Back to the point. Death.

I thought, more like speculated, it would be more interesting than this. Does not having a faith restrict you from the afterlife? It was a problem for thought. Many had wondered what the afterlife was, was there Hell, Heaven, and Nirvana? Was that real? It was human philosophy and curiosity, I suppose, to wonder about something you have no way of knowing the answer to, to form beliefs and write books on that theory when we have no way of knowing if it is true or not.

There are other theories, the white light at the end of the tunnel, maybe? Nope, well it didn't happen to me. Maybe I should have had a religion, like Number 032, then I would be saved from my thoughts of contemplation.

My thoughts are straying again. So, death. One word to describe the phenomenon, apart from being a let-down. Boring. Boring as fuck.

Sure, it's comfortable, like being inside a warm cocoon of blankets on a Saturday morning, where it is inevitable that you just won't move your arse even if it kills you.

I couldn't really complain though, what did I have it to compare to? Was I expecting the grim reaper to appear from his shadowy corner? Sharpened scythe and all that jazz? I couldn't imagine myself going to heaven, and I guess I'm not going to hell either, unless the Grim Reaper really wants to fuck with me by bringing me out of my womb of warmth.

It was so quiet here. I'm not particularly sure where here is, but its welcoming, affectionate (as far as I know) and ever so cosy. I don't think I want to ever leave, though I think I knew, deep down, that all good things come to an end.

There was something strange about my new home, resting place, haunting grounds, or whatever it is called. It didn't seem like I was alone. The thought was fleeting at first, it happened when I felt a brush against, what I has assumed was, my forearm. Over the time I had been in my safe haven (Days? Weeks? Months? Years?) I had gradually begin to entertain the idea that I was not alone. I had someone with me. I would not spend eternity wasting away in my thoughts.

My companion, Cell mate, Ghost-buddy, whoever they were, never spoke. I let that slide because neither did I, it wasn't like I didn't want to communicate, on the contrary I felt as though I needed to at least make some sort of sound. But I didn't. More like I couldn't, it was like there was some sort of leash that restricted my vocal cords from making any sort of sound. And I hated it. I might not have spoken a lot when I was alive, but I enjoyed the odd conversation, it was refreshing.

I loved tinkering with things in my spare time, it was something that grabbed my attention and could hold it for a long time. The things I usually played with (that's what everyone else said it was. Playing? Pft) were electronics, torches or games consoles mostly. I had a thrilling time trying to figure out if I could make that torch go just slightly brighter or if I could invent a better and more efficient graphics system for a play station. They could never fully occupy my time for long, I was trained to know this stuff in a heartbeat, and could quickly correct the mistakes and improve simple machines easily. But that was never fun.

I always liked a good game. Chess, mostly. That was always fun, though not many people enjoyed it at the base, I couldn't see why- they preferred to play poker and black jack, betting beer and food usually, money was short in the base. Strategy and tactical thinking was what I excelled at most, though it rarely came into use, unless I am needed; that would only happen once in a blue moon though, as the rebels had a tactical division, and I am needed elsewhere.

Stop!

What is this feeling?!

My chest, it hurts. Has the devil finally come to drag me down to hell? It feels tight and squished, I and my cell mate (I refuse to call it any different until I know where we are) are compacted together until it becomes almost painful, and I came to feel it pushed up against me.

I finally realise that going through a small doorway (was it a doorway?) together won't work, it felt like we had been trying to escape our place of rest for hours. Then I thought, why would we want to leave this place? It's safe, its warm and its ever so comfortable.

So I leant back, I let my friend (I believe it was my friend, they didn't seem threatening; though I doubt I could call it a friend- we hadn't made any sign of communication for as long as we have been here) take centre stage and go up first. It can fight the unknown on its own, first.

I felt the presence of my companion leave me, and was left feeling strangely alone. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt like this, but I guess over our time together, I had grown fond of the other 'thing' in here with me.

I was suddenly thrust forward. The be speckled gap of light looked- well not looked, I couldn't really even see- a lot less daunting and tight now that it was only me being pushed through, but it still seemed like a very hard fit.

I was dragged into a memory of a long time age when I rethought my situation. This felt very similar to the time I got myself stuck into a car tyre, as a dare, of course. I was sixteen and had just got drunk for the first time, it wasn't a pleasant experience, I then swore off all alcohol when I woke up with the mother-of-all-that-is-good-and-holy-hangover. I broke that vow six months later when it was Number 24's birthday and he had decided to get the entire unit drunk as some 'fun'. So, I was dared to-stupidly- try and fit myself into the inside of a spare tyre, and be rolled around the base. I was sick sooner than you could think. Definitely not a good idea.

The light was upon my now. My head was touching it, almost becoming one with the light, and breaking its barrier. A clawing grip suddenly made itself known by grabbing onto my heavy head, and pulling me. Now that, is what you call painful. I didn't have the strength to resist. Therefore, I was fully dragged out of my home and brought into this new world kicking and screaming- literally.

It was blinding. Not the 'it's so beautiful!' type of blinding, it was bright and it was-most of all- painful. It felt like it was burning my cornea's right out of my skull, I as forced to close my eyes.

I released, what was supposed to be a yell of pain, but came out a high pitched wail. I was overcome with embarrassment- what a great way to make a first impression, crying like a new-born. My vocal cords wouldn't obey my command to stop the infernal noise they were projecting; I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't focus on anything.

My body was suddenly moved and I panicked, letting out another high pitched cry. I could feel myself being moved, I was roughly taken away from the person who held me first- wait. Held me? I did not like the person holding me right now, I didn't lie anyone holding me, but this person felt wrong, sinister. I was suddenly full of motion, my body flying through the air, and it was not my own doing. This malicious person had _thrown _me.

I could hear the ringing wails of someone else, my hearing wasn't the best but it sounded like a baby, was that what I sounded like? I wonder if that was my cell mate's voice crying out to me, I think. I could feel the air licking at my skin as I flew threw the air, despite the fact that I was covered with what I think is a blanket, I'm not sure where it came from.

My body was suddenly cushioned against someone's chest, the person was obviously male, and he worked out a lot, but that was all I could tell. I still was unable to open my eyes. The other wails were further away now, they sounded some distance away.

A roar was heard in the distance, it was full of anger and rage- fuelled with the intent to kill. It struck me to my very core, and I was definitely not afraid to say that I was scared shitless by this 'things' mere presence. The roar was animalistic and definitely not human. Nothing else mattered as I became silent, shaking in fear, though I knew the 'thing' was nowhere near me.

My fear lessened as the man began to hush and coo at me, him being near me gave me a sense of comfort I couldn't understand. I instantly trusted him, yet I do not know him. I still could not fathom how he had picked me up and was moving very fast with me in his arms- I could tell by the amount of air brushing over me that we were going fast. Were we in a car? No. I couldn't hear the unmistakeable blare of an engine vibrating my ear drums. I had no idea how we were travelling.

The air suddenly stopped as we also came to a halt. I couldn't hear the other cries anymore, I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. The man holding me suddenly set me down and I let out a whimper of disagreement, much to my humiliation. He gently hushed me in response.

He gently, yet hurriedly, began to remove my blanket. I didn't like that and it showed as my forehead creased as I began to get ready to let another cry echo into the air. The stranger must have sensed this as he began to hush me, again. I quickly became quiet again, much to my chagrin.

Slowly, he began to remove my blanket from my person, and I did not make a sound. Seconds went by and I suddenly felt something cold, wet and foreign on my stomach. It tickled, and I made a noise of discomfort, but did not make a loud fuss.

Why am I so vulnerable right now? I am a full grown, independent woman that should not have been reduced to the snivelling, whining and crying _mess_ that I am now!

The man suddenly bent down, right nest to my face and whispered something to me that I couldn't understand. It didn't sound like English though.

He pulled away from me, I couldn't see where he was -I had yet to open my eyes- but I guessed that he had stood up. I heard to man shout something to the sky (I think) his voice was laced with pain, I could tell that much, though I couldn't recognise anything else, I had never been good with identifying the emotion of others.

The wind suddenly thrashed around me violently and I heard the beast let out another piercing roar. This time it was, not only filled with rage, but also pain, like it was withering away from something that was inevitable. And it was definitely not happy with this outcome.

The Man (the named I -very creatively- dubbed him with) suddenly poked my stomach, and hen the pin came. I thrashed and kicked and screamed, my insides were going crazy, it was like molten hot lava was slowly moving underneath my skin and it was staying put until it cooled, but it never cooled, and for hours I sat there screaming.

I did not notice the man leaving then returning with my cell mate, lying him next to me.

I did not notice as the man curled up around us- me and my cell mate- to keep us safe.

I only noticed the pain. The pain only relinquished its unforgiving hold on me once my vision began to darken, as I slowly lost consciousness, my cellmate following soon after.

I did not notice the sound of foot prints as they made their way toward me, stopping right next to us.

I did not notice as they gazed sadly among the sight around him, then, gently picking us up and turning around, leaving. Not glancing back. Only calling for someone to deal with The Man.

_NUMBER 008_

**Word Count of this chapter: 2707**

**Disclaimer- I do not own Naruto.**

**Question: ****Who would win in a fight Sakura or Temari?**

**My Answer:**** … wait for the next chapter.**

**Please Review, it makes me feel special.**


	3. It's My Life

My next coherent thought was not until several weeks later. Up until then everything felt strange, like an out of body experience, or that I was sleeping in a car that was speeding down a motorway. It was extremely frustrating. I slept most of the time, I didn't dream, the time when I was awake it felt like a dream. Everything was very blurry, I was not able to make out the simplest things, which was irritating, my hearing was fuzzy, and no sounds were coherent enough for me to make anything out of them, which was an annoyance.

My euphoria came to me around the seventh week (I'm guessing it was seven), my vision became clear enough to not give me a headache straining my eyes, and my ears sharpened enough so that everything was not a constant buzzing sound, both of which I was extremely thankful for. Though I did not cry often- I'm guessing- the urge to release a loud wail of frustration was nearly overwhelming.

I could see that I was in a cot. The rising bars looked like a warped wooden version of a jail cell window that had been barred up. I also noticed I was alone. Though I had guessed this initially, I assumed right off the bat, that they would have put me with my twin.

Realisation.

Ah, that was an interesting time. My epiphany that I was a baby was some very logical, yet unbelievable, thinking on my part. I was lightly ashamed to say that it took me this long to figure out. To my credit, I was asleep half the time and in shock the rest, so it wasn't a massive blow to my pride that my deduction skills took this long to come into use. It didn't stop the ego bruising, though. Oh well, at least there was no one around to see it.

It was a shock to me that they did not put me with my twin, I couldn't assume why. Didn't people normally put twins (or cell mates?) together in the same cot? Or at the very least, the same room?

I wasn't always alone. However, they were not very desirable company to keep. I soon learned that lesson.

My care giver was old, fat and fried. I could tell she was not my mother. I had guessed by then that my mother had died, or had shipped me off somewhere. And that maybe my father just didn't give a toss about me, so never showed up if the social workers called him, I assume. The woman was in her late fifties with round glass marbles for eyes, they were nearly overlapped by the wrinkled nude flesh surrounding them like a bed sheet. Her round face was punctuated by thin, dragging lips and a long pointed nose. She had enough wrinkles to fit a deck of cards in her face, I'm sure. Maybe I should try it, when I'm older. It would be hilarious. Her face was also in a constant frown, turned into a scowl when she looked at me, though I am not sure why. To her knowledge, as far as I am aware, I am an innocent baby.

It was cold where I lived, as well, I can't be sure why, did they forget to pay the heating bill? But I knew that wasn't true. When the woman came to feed me (she did nothing else, apart from change me at the same time as feeding- and I fully resent her for it), I listened and heard the over accented footsteps of the vile woman, as she made her way towards, what I had dubbed as 'My Cell'. I recognised the sound of a person going down stairs, and I realised that I am either in the basement or the attic. The attic is unlikely, given that it is often too cold, not too warm, since hot air rises it was safe to say that I was in the basement.

And I did not like it.

From what I had guessed, judging by the amount of footsteps it takes the hag to reach me, I'm assuming that the room is only a metre or two long, and with an even shorter width. My cot had been placed, with it lining the back wall, I could tell because even though I cannot sit up on my own, I can shift my eyes around, and can see the scarcely decorated musty coloured wall, right next to me. It was slightly mouldy half way up, I don't know why, weren't there health checks on things like these?

If not, the plain idea is preposterous. Maybe not for a fully grown adult to live in, but a baby can get ill easy, it's immune system not yet strong enough to fight illness. Were they trying to kill me?

Other than the hag, I had not had any communication to the outside world, and if things carry on like this, I'm guessing I won't have for a very long time.

Another thing I had noticed, that The Hag's language was not English. Back at the rebellion, we had to learn a second language, we didn't get to choose which language, but we had to become fluent, or else there would be trouble. The language they had given me was Russian.

Russian.

It was a beautiful language, at least I thought so. Many wouldn't agree, thinking it was too rustic and rough. I found it endearing. My fascination not only stopped with the language, but I became absorbed in the culture, architecture and recent news. Anything.

We had to keep up with recent news, it was a necessity, we were not always told what advancement the rebels would take, so we found it important to find out ourselves. Occasionally someone would find a picture of one of the death machines we had sired together as a unit (with my blueprints, though we liked to think there was equal effort). So, everyone person in the unit was mailed a newspaper from the country which language they learnt. And I loved it. Though you could hardly call it being mailed, it was a helicopter dropping a wooden crate outside the base, whilst still in the air. Usually everything survived. You received no sympathy if it got broken, ripped or shredded.

I recognised the language she was speaking, it was Japanese. Number 019, was given Japanese to learn, I pitied him. He constantly sounded like he was an auctioneer with how fast he had to speak. They guy himself was nice, he had a standard appearance nothing special, blonde hair, brown eyes, black clothing. Like the rest of us, mostly. I was the opposite of him, appearance wise. I won't bother to picture how I looked _then_ since I know I don't look the same _now. _

She didn't talk much so it took me awhile to figure out the language, and I doubt I would have recognised the foreign tongue if I didn't spend so much time with Number 019. Both Number 019 and I had taken to the Japanese way for entertainment. Manga ad Anime. We spent most of our time reading and watching the stuff, and any other time we would play Duel Monsters** [1]** with the cards we spent our allowance on.

I'm getting off topic.

The only time she talked was when it was angry mutterings, and I could tell that they were usually about me, that or she was bitching about her life. I didn't appreciate listening to either.

I had never been very active, in my _past _life_. _I needed to get the hang of calling it my **past **life. Anyway, I always preferred to be watching TV, reading Manga, playing games or learning. I was never against exercise, it just didn't appeal to me. Despite this, I kept myself fit, you had to, as you never could know when the unexpected could happen. With one mistake you could lose your life, and although we don't have the best lives, no one wanted to do that. I think they feared death, who wouldn't?

I went to the gym once a week, I wasn't like the some of the other women here, as they spent most of their free time in the gym and became had more muscle than most of the men. Though I didn't really care about looks, why would I? There was no one to impress. And even less who I wanted to impress. However, I definitely not like a specific three women who only cared about their looks, they didn't go to the gym, we shared it with the men, that was my theory why they didn't go, or they just didn't want to sweat. And they frequently only ate half of the rations they were given, I knew this as I stole their leftovers daily. I felt no remorse. Why would I? Number 026, Number 027 and Number 028 that was their code names. They were some of the lucky ones, they had friends before the rebels took them and they all managed to get in the same unit. Lucky bastards.

Despite not being as active a physically possible, I didn't detest exercise, like some people.

But this, this was too much. It was a lazy man's dream, their safe haven, their cloud nine, it was definitely not mine. Eighteen hours a day of sleeping, it wasn't bad, but it got boring and being tired all they time quickly lost its appeal. The lack of mobility nearly brought me to tearing my hair out (if I had any hair, I couldn't _see_ any, but I'm sure it was there), if I could get my arms to move. I couldn't, but it was a nice thought.

What I used to take advantage of is now the bane of my existence. My arms refused to obey my minds commands and usually lay limp at my sides, the same with my legs, although I had found that when they did move, they were extremely flexible. This was something I hadn't known. Though that wasn't something to be ashamed of, I had never heard the word baby for all of my adult life, let alone seen a real one. I never found the topic interesting, to be honest. I couldn't fathom why someone would want a child, it would be loud, annoying, crying, stressful, unbearable, and let's not forget it would _cry._ I would also had to go through child birth, and that would not be pretty, I could just tell. Why would someone want to be a mother? It was food for thought, though I doubt I would dwell on the topic long.

Being a baby had its advantages, it gave me time to think, and with no one around to talk to me so they couldn't distract me. I had never been a talkative person in the first place. It got me thinking, where am I? It is obvious I am in Japan, I doubt there is another country that speaks Japanese other than Japan itself. But _when _am I? That was the real question, could I be after the war where the rebels had either been victorious, resulting in a monarch free world, or had they been dwindled down into the last few, leaving the world to pick up the pieces from their rage. I hadn't heard any building shaking bombs going off, so I don't think I was in a time during the war. However, it could be possible that I am in a rural area that was not so threatened by the rebels and their opposing forces.

I was not counting my first night of being alive because I have not a clue in hell what that was. It was best to erase it from my mind. In fact, I am not overly positive that it was not a dream. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, and I could never be sure.

There was something strange in the air. And I don't mean a freaky feeling, I mean that there is physically something staining the air. Though I could never see it, I knew it was there, it was like a tingling at the back of my mind and a tickle on my skin. Radiation, maybe? Doubtful. The amounts of it varied, sometimes there was a flash of it, stronger than normal, though it was completely harmless, it still felt strange. Occasionally, there was unusual flares of this _energy. _It felt dark, dangerous and downright nasty. I don't know how it could feel like that, I did not want to know.

Other than the _holy-fuck-what-is-that _essence in the air, I had what I thought to be a normal first six months of my life. I observed my patron, I learnt some of the language, I knew they basics already-_thank you Number 019- _however, my vocabulary was still severely lacking, I could only form a few sentences, and that was in my mind, my body, namely my tongue, still refused to comply with my demands.

I was in the process of teaching myself to crawl at the seventh month mark. I am not sure if it is too early for a baby to be crawling, I had nothing to compare it too. Though my muscles are still not improving fast enough for my liking, they were still too weak and flimsy; I didn't need that, they were certainly a vexation. It was more frustrating than I would like to admit, and was partly ashamed to say that I had suffered from numerous temper tantrums because I was not able to complete it. It was not like I disturbed anyone, my cries were not that loud, I would like to think, no one came to check on me if I cried so I assumed that they merely couldn't hear me. I would not forgive them for their ignorance.

I had still not found my cell mate, but I was not disappointed, merely curious of who they were. I didn't know them long enough to be disappointed.

Then, at seven months old, I did not know that I would soon have a visitor that would shake the very foundation of my beliefs. I was only an innocent child, I wanted it to stay that way.

Why couldn't I be normal?

_Number 008_

**Word count- 2399**

**Warning- Mild swearing.**

**Disclaimer- I do not own Naruto.**

**[1]- 'Duel Monsters' is the card game from the anime and manga Yu-Gi-Oh.**

**Answer- in Shippuden I believe that Sakura would win, this is purely because while she had a Sannin as a teacher and mentor, Temari didn't have that. Though pre- shippuden, Temari could easily win, I believe that is towards her both not taking being a ninja seriously and the incompetence of Kakashi as her teacher.**

**Question- What song would you play at your funeral?**

**(I know mine, find out next chapter)**

**Please review, it makes me feel special.**


	4. It's Now or Never

Today was strange, I decided.

The past months of my life had gone by on a monotone, dreary and dull way- complete normalcy. I woke up silently, waited a few hours for my care giver-I use that term _very_ loosely- to come to me. She would then feed me, change me (something I found horrendously embarrassing), then leave me, only to return later and repeat the simple cycle. Between the intervals when The Hag was near me, I would be crawling, moving and trying to stand. I would never achieve it, but it was something to look forward to. Other than that nothing happened.

Today though, today was different.

First of all, The Hag came to change me earlier than usual, I didn't know the exact time- there wasn't a clock in My Cell- but I had a very simple schedule and it was around one hour after I woke that she usually came to me. I predicted she was only around half that time today.

As she picked me up- keeping me as far away from herself as possible- I noticed another thing, she was wearing _makeup. _The Hag was wearing Makeup! The statement was absurd, shouldn't it have melted her, revealing her green skin and wart filled face? Hm, maybe I was more like a child than I thought. In my opinion, it didn't make her more appealing, _that_ just wasn't possible, but, I admit, it took the edge off of her repulsive features. She was painted with thick foundation, it was very pale and clashed with her slightly tanned skin horribly, and her cheeks were heavily dusted with powder, taking the steely edge off of the pasty white. She looked like some form of ghost dragged out of hell backwards, though she was careful enough so that not one hair was out of place, if you looked from the front, the back, however, was a whole different story.

She had changed clothes as well. Her regular grey dress and stained grey apron had been replaced by a more elegant looking kimono. It wasn't a very extravagant kimono, not like something people would wear for festivals, it think. Since I had never been to a festival I didn't have the most reliable assumption, but I had seen pictures of them in the paper, coupled with basic knowledge I knew she was dressed up, just not what for. Was it even the right time of year to have a festival anyway? Regardless, the kimono was a light red and had light blue splodges everywhere which I guessed sort of looked like flowers, her obi was a banana yellow, clashing horribly with her other clothes, she reminded me of a over grown garden in the middle of summer, blotches of colour attacking you from all angles.

Coming back to reality I noticed that we were moving. We were going up the stairs. This is new, I had never even seen these stairs, let alone actually gone up them. The Hag keeps the door locked so I have no hope of actually getting out unless I relearn how to pick locks. The stairs were old and made out of harsh stone, their colour was grey and numerous silver scratches marked each step, I wonder where they came from. As she carried me up the tunnel I spied that the ceiling was dark and covered in damp, the only light illuminating this place was from a single lonely light bulb, which looked beaten and rundown, like the stairs.

Finally reaching the end of the tunnel- pun intended. I heard something other than boring silence.

Children.

Their high pitched squeals fuelled the air and laughter added to the formula. Pushing past the last barrier between me and them, The Hag brought me into the room, the squeaking of hinges attracted the attention of the snotty kids. Suddenly, they all dropped what they were doing and swarmed around The Hag and I like rabid dogs, barking questions towards us. I didn't like it.

Now being able to see them, I counted ten children surrounding us, but could hear more noise from outside; it was a very crowded orphanage it seemed.

The Hag forced a smile onto her face, it looked foreign- like it didn't fit with her features. I assume the smile was fake, then again I could be wrong I had never been a good judge of emotion, probably because of my introverted personality. If she smiled for them, why did she not for me? Then again I don't think I would want her to smile at me, the wind might blow and her face would get stuck like that. I repressed a shiver, that thought was repulsive.

It is the first time I am released from my Cell yet I am already longing to return, the children are exhausting and I am already bored. I wonder how they can be excited to see The Hag, she was never pleasant company and downright hostile most of the time.

Wanting to distract myself I glance around the room and commit it to memory. The walls were all a dull grey with the odd stain blemishing its surface, there was a painting on the left wall. The painting encased in a frame that looked old and battered yet no dust lay upon it. I bet that if I removed it there would be pristine white paint behind the canvas. Multi coloured drawings plastered the bottoms of walls in what could only be crayon and scratches littered to wooden floor, too many of them to be covered by a simple rug. Perhaps The Hag should invest in a carpet, however looking at the suspicious stains littered around just about anywhere- including the brats themselves- I muse that a carpet would probably not last long.

After a torturous five minutes of faffing and whining, the Hag releases her and me from the gaggle of eager children. She moves quickly and quietly as if more children are lying in wait to pounce on her to take up more of her valuable time. I scowl slightly at my thoughts, I must be so bored that they are wandering far from course. She wandered out from the room, I am happy for that at least, maybe she was useful for something?

She strode down a hallway and we reached our destination as she slid open a door and walked inside, this room was different. It looked part office and part living room. Admittedly there was not much to make it look like an office apart from the medium sized desk fitted against the far wall, it was almost overflowing with sheets of paper. The other half of the room was bare apart from the comfortable looking sofa placed against the wall; it was brown and leather and looked _so_ comfortable.

"Hokage- sama." I was snapped out of my musings about sofas when I heard the Hags voice, it was brittle and held a touch of bite. It was only then that I realised that she was holding me closer to her person than I ever remember being, and I realised it must be because of this person in the room. _Where have I heard 'Hokage' from before'?_

I cut off my thoughts when I caught sight of the person sitting purposefully on the couch. He was old and wrinkles overlapped flesh on his face, he was fairly tanned- though not overly so, he had grey hair no doubt a result of his age and a thin frame. None of that mattered though.

My eyes widened and my head snapped to look at the hat sitting beside him so fast I was sure I got whiplash. I rubbed my eyes with my fleshy fist, thinking that maybe it would rub the images out if my mind. Sadly, it failed.

I assessed what was going on, my mind racing from the shock. The old, frail looking man sitting decked out in white and red, was Hokage.

Hokage.

Sarutobi Hiruzen.

Naruto.

Naruto was real. I was in Naruto!

I felt like screaming but my vocal cords failed me, I felt like crying but I produced no tears. For once, I felt like showing a vulnerability- something that I had not done since my own childhood.

Sudden I felt calm, like a tidal wave of peace set over me and I could breathe again. Numbly, I thought that maybe if the Hokage was real, maybe chakra was real, and so maybe the Hokage released a wave of his own chakra to calm me down. He could do that, right?

My heart rate returned to normal and I could see again, funny I didn't know when I lost my vision. Did I just faint? How humiliating.

I opened my eyes and noticed I was still clasped to the Hags chest and breathed in her regular overpowering scent, rose petals I think it was, and was suddenly grateful for the familiarity however small it was.

The Hag was speedily talking to the Hokage, probably trying to come up with an excuse as to why I basically had a panic attack when I caught sight of him. I couldn't understand what she said, but I jerked when I was thrust into the old man's hands, I could feel his calluses, it was a stark contrast from the bony yet soft hands that usually held me. The Hag obviously used hand moisturiser, though I don't know why, I generally found the stuff uncomfortable and creepy on my hands.

I am getting off subject.

I was turned around and looked into the man who was like a grandfather to Naruto eyes, I saw that they were softened yet glinted with intelligence, though I already knew that would be there, he was 'The Professor' for a reason. His eyes seemed curious, but that was just another educated guess, who wouldn't be curious when they just witnessed a baby have a panic attack.

"Mariko-Chan," he whispered, his voice crackled on the last syllable and I'm not sure if it was because of old vocal chords or pure emotion that was affecting his voice. He scrutinised my face for a few minutes, and I heard the light shutting of the door, The Hag must have left. I was too busy to care.

"Hello Mariko-Chan."

It suddenly hit me that that must be my name. Mariko. Hm, I wonder what it means.

Clothing shifted and it was only then that I was aware of the other occupant of the room. He was small and had a clump of the Hokage robe nestled tightly within his grasp.

Blonde hair invaded my vision and I quickly took a retake, it looked like the sun was shining out of his skull. The baby twisted upwards so that he was facing us (he had been lying down half covered by the Hokage hat apparently) and opened his mouth in a grin so wide that I actually fought down a wince, didn't that hurt?

Realisation hit me quicker than I would have liked. Right here, right now I was staring at the scar free face of Naruto Uzumaki, a growing feeling of trepidation crawling up my spine and resting itself in my gut. My mouth opened and I released the first thing that came to mind.

"Shit."

**Word Count: 1889**

**This chapter is a bit short but I have been doing a lot of procrastinating lately and this is the result of it. Thank you to all my reviewers, you made me feel special. It would be to my uttermost pleasure if we repeated the performance.**

**Answer- 'Staying Alive' by the Bee Gee's. Because I am just THAT sarcastic.**

**Question- What colour would a Smurf go if you choke it?**

**Goodbye, my Minions. **


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